I was standing in a giant gray warehouse, in charge of it somehow. A friend came up to me holding a tangle of slightly inflated plastic that almost filled the room. Not really holding it, more like wrapped in it, the longest inflatable beach raft you can imagine.
I can't fit all this in storage, he said, It's too much to handle.
"No problem," I said. "We'll flatten it out and fold it up, then you can fit the same amount in a smaller space."
Another friend came in next. He was trying to carry an uncountable number of long, snakelike pieces of styrofoam. They reminded me of ricotta cheese, they were soft and kept trying to escape.
I can't hold all of these, he said.
I said, "I don't think I can help you."
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3 comments:
In your dreams, you are an art handler.
With a limited amount of sympathy, apparently. But that's probably true to life.
I mean about art dealers, not about me in particular. My sympathy well seems to run to the center of the earth.
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